The Blood Of Pride
by IceBlade28
Summary: The Taliver bandits have kidnapped the tactician as he leaves the Caelin palace. Lyndis' Legion must rescue him, but the Taliver are using the tactician's skills as their own! The tables are quickly turned, and Caelin begins to fall to one of it's own .
1. Chapter I

IceBlade28: Well, this is gonna be my newest multi-chaptered fic. To all my fans, or those of you who are fans, Person's Unknown will still be updated and continued as normal- but this fic will be occuring too. Don't worry.

Serra: Hey, cool! I'm your muse for this fic too!

IceBlade28: Serra, you're my _only_ muse. Don't let it go to your head.

Serra: Oh, you mean no-one else was good enough to be your muse! Finally, all my hard work and prayers has-

IceBlade28: Right. Anyway, since Person's Unknown featured my female tactician Kaira (even if she is dead), I thought it only fair for this tale to feature my male tactician, Erisal.

Serra: You were so cruel. How could you murder Kaira!

IceBlade28: I didn't. X did.

Serra: That's besides the point!

IceBlade28: Serra, shut up. Enjoy my newest fic!

**The Blood Of Pride**

**Chapter I: Farewells And Parting Gifts**

Erisal smiled as he sat in the shadows, watching the members of Lyndis' Legion dance and eat and drink. The late Lord Lundgren had been slain no more than two days ago, and the coronation would take place tomorrow. Tonight was Lyn's last night as a simple Sacaen woman, and many of her friends and family thought it only right to celebrate tonight.

The tactician felt like some shadowy assassin, lurking in the shadows. The warm light from the nearby fire flickered and danced over his ring. The ring was pure silver, and he'd had it for as long as he could remember. The words 'Faith' and 'Courage' were inscribed on the ring, referring to an old saying he'd once heard. 'A man who is true to his heart not only has the faith to do what is right, but the courage necessary to accomplish it, overcoming all obstacles to achieve his goal.'

A very wise man had once said that to him, though he could not remember where. Frowning, Erisal took a sip from his goblet of wine. It was definitely an occasion wine; with a more powerful taste of fruit than alcohol.

The tactician watched his long-time friend dance on the stone floor, her long green hair swirling around her. Lyndis was . . . striking. She was beautiful, there was no point lying about it. Erisal smiled slightly as the Sacaen woman spun gracefully on the floor, before smiling and excusing herself. There were many servants, along with select members of Lyndis' Legion. Even Dorcas had managed to arrive in time, with his young wife Natalie in tow. Somehow Natalie kept her footing and was dancing with the best of them; even though her leg was supposed to be rotten with sickness and on the verge of collapsing.

_I guess miracles do happen_, Erisal thought happily. He watched Lyn quench her thirst with some water from a bowl, before walking over towards him.

"Erisal," she said, confused. "How come you aren't out here yet? Surely you don't want the night to go to waste." The tactician shifted nervously.

"I'm afraid dancing isn't really my thing." he said, his heart beating faster than normal. Lyn smiled, offering her hand.

"Come on." she said. "It can't be that bad." Erisal sighed. Apparently his friend wouldn't stop until she got her way; not that he cared very much. To dance with a true beauty of the plains-

_No. Stop,_ he told himself. _Don't go down that road. It will never work out. She is- will be- a princess. You are nought but a tactician. It would never work._

Slowly, Erisal allowed himself to be lead onto the stone tiles, and he danced with Lyn. The music from the violins and flutes and drums seemed to pulse through his body, and he found himself dancing that little bit harder, going that extra bit further. Eventually, more than one couple stopped to stare at the tactician and the princess.

After a time, the music ended, and Lyn stepped backwards from the tactician, breathless.

"Erisal," she panted. "I had . . . I had no idea. Why weren't you dancing before?" The tactician offered a small smile.

"It's not really my favourite activity." he said, trying not to blush. Even though his heart was racing, he was overcome with a surge of sadness. He bowed his head to Lyn, showing his respect, before leaving the dance floor.

Erisal headed towards a door, his mind silently running over calculations. Rath would be leaving soon, and doubtless Lyn would want to speak with him before the Nomad left. About . . . . now.

Halfway out the door, Erisal looked back to see Rath silently rise from his chair and slip out the only window facing the Sacae Plains. The tactician grinned, and descended down a stone staircase. It was best if Lyn didn't know he'd left; Erisal hated long goodbye's.

Although, there was one person he wouldn't mind saying goodbye to, if only she would come to see him . . .

-----

Rath slowly untethered his horse, giving it's mane a brief pat before placing a foot in the stirrups. He was about to climb into the saddle when a familiar voice held him back.

"Rath, wait!" cried a female voice. The Nomad didn't even turn around. He knew she'd wind up out here, wanting to say goodbye.

"Lyn of the Lorca." he said, removing his foot from the stirrups. "Why have you abandoned your party? It is to celebrate your ascension to the throne, under your grandfather. It is your moment." Lyn smiled, trying to meet his gaze.

"It . . . it didn't seem right without you." she said gently. Rath didn't move, and his emerald eyes were impassive.

"Lyn, what do you want to say?" he said. "I cannot stay, you know this." Lyn sighed, taking a step back.

"I suppose not. But Rath . . . I wanted to thank you." The Nomad held up a hand.

"I need no thanks from a fellow plainsdweller." he said, and his cold eyes seemed to take on a certain softness. Lyn stepped forward and held Rath close, embracing him fondly.

"Thanks to you, I have my Grandfather." she said, still holding him tight. "I have my throne . . . I couldn't let you leave, not without knowing that." Rath shrugged.

"Now I know." he said simply. Lyn stopped, unsure of how to react. She released him, the uncertainty showing on her face.

"Oh . . . I guess . . this is goodbye, then." Lyn said quietly. Rath nodded.

"Until we meet again, Lady Lyndis." the Sacaen said, climbing into the saddle. He was about to nudge his steed into a canter when Lyn grabbed his wrist.

"Lady Lyndis?" she echoed. "Rath, I'm still the same person you rescued in Araphen! I am still of the Lorca tribe; still of Sacaen heritage!" she said fiercely. "I would never abandon my tribe! You know what the blood of a Sacaen means to me! Just because I'm a noble now-"

Rath's gaze cut off any reply. Lyn stood still, her mouth hanging open in an undignified manner. His next reply was carefully spoken, and Lyn would remember his answer for years to come.

"Lyn . . . you are proud of your Sacaen lineage, and this alone is enough to ensure you a place in my heart." he said quietly.

"Rath . . ." Lyn whispered, unsure of how to react. The Nomad tugged the reins sharply, and his horse galloped into the sunset.

Lyn smiled sadly at his retreating form, silhouetted by the golden glow of the Sacaen plains.

Even though Erisal was standing not two metres behind her, Lyn did not take her eyes off Rath's retreating form. Nor did she notice as the tactician turned his back and walked away.

-----

The next day dawned, and Erisal woke from his usual dreams. They were never the most pleasant of dreams; his nights were tortured by demons and fires of the past. Erisal rubbed his eyes and massaged his brow gingerly, trying to work away the headache.

"Get out of there," he muttered, kneading his temples. "Stop it. It's in the past; they're gone." he said aloud. Attempting to distract himself, he flicked back the sheets and rose out of the bed. His mind usually took it's time to 'warm up', but once it did he was on for the day.

Erisal was about to throw on a simple green shirt when he remembered that today wasn't just any day. Today was the coronation day of Lady Lyndis, marking her ascension to the throne of Caelin. Sighing, Erisal pulled out his travel bag and began to pack his clothes and effects. Lyn wouldn't be seeing him at the coronation, though she would doubtlessly want to.

Erisal paused, struggling with the feelings awash in his heart. He wasn't sure how Lyn would take two people leaving her in two days . . . but she'd have to. The tactician had places to go, people to see . . . there was a debt that needed to be repaid, and a promise that needed to be fulfilled.

The tactician closed the clasp over his neck, inspecting himself in a mirror.

"You look very nice, Sir Tactician." said a chambermaid. Erisal turned to the girl, who immediately hid her face.

"Beggin' your pardon, Sir Tactician." she said hurriedly, pulling out a rag to wipe the window with. Erisal's expression turned suspicious.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, feeling strangely self-conscious. He usually slept with a shirt off, but . . .

"Oh, not very long, your Tacticianship." the maid said, blushing and rubbing harder against the window. Erisal watched her for a moment, shrugged, and walked out the door. Perhaps he would attend the coronation, if only for a short while.

Erisal looked down at his ring, reading the inscription and feeling a pang of guilt.

_I _am_ doing what's right_, he thought. _There are long-overdue debts that needed to be paid, and a promise that needs to be fulfilled . . ._

The tactician shouldered his pack and closed the door to his room, descending the stone flight of steps. He would stay until Lyn was crowned; just long enough to establish eye contact.

Then he would leave, never to return.

-----

Kent and Sain stood carefully to attention, while Wallace stood near the door as the designated head of security. Almost the entire platoon of the Royal Caelin Guards were attending, along with the majority of Caelin itself. The tactician stood near the back of the hallway, watching Lyn with eyes of such hardness that a hawk would cringe under their gaze. It was almost eerie.

Lyn sat on the throne in her traditional Sacaen garb, with the Sword of Spirits in it's sheath by her side. Erisal leant against the back wall, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the ceremony take place. Kent walked forward, holding out a ceremonial sabre and a sceptre of gold. He handed the sceptre to Lyn, who took it, admiring it's fine craftmanship. After this, Kent removed a polished and bejewelled tiara from a velvet cushion, and held it above Lyn's head. Sain took the sabre from Kent and placed the flat of the blade on Lyn's right shoulder.

"Lady Lyndis," Kent intoned. "Through the knightship given me by thy esteemed hand, and the royal blood which flows through thy veins, thou art proclaimed Princess, and Ruler over all of Caelin. May thy days be long upon this land."

Sain tapped Lyn twice on each shoulder, before sheathing the razor sabre with a 'clack'. Lyn rose to her feet, and the many subjects under her rule applauded. Lyn of the Lorca was now Lady Lyndis, Princess of Caelin.

Erisal smiled sadly, removing his silver ring and placing it gently within his pocket. Lyn's teal eyes scanned the crowd, until they met with the hard amber eyes of her faithful tactician. For a moment Lyn's heart was gladdened, until Erisal bowed his head respectfully and waved. Her Sacan eyes did not miss a thing; Erisal's ring had been removed.

The tactician turned and exited through the oaken double doors, leaving Lyn amidst hundreds of her servants and guards. The Sacaen princess' eyes were saddened, and she felt her heart sink. He couldn't leave without saying goodbye!

Erisal, outside of the throne room, shouldered his travelling bag and looked out a window. The sun was shining beautifully on the plains of Sacae, and it was towards the oceans of grass that Erisal would journey.

-----

The tactician stood on a hill overlooking the plains, and took a deep breath. _One chapter ends, another begins_, he said to himself. As much as he liked Caelin . . and Lyn . . . he couldn't stay there. There was too much of Elibe to see, and there was almost certainly others somewhere in the continent that needed his help. His skills were needed. They had been honed through years of training, and through his campaign that placed Lady Lyndis in her throne. He was barely fifteen, and some would still call him a child. Nevertheless, there were many who respected him, and vice versa.

Erisal adjusted his backpack, and took a few shaky steps down the hill, pausing to gain his balance and pick off a burr that had decided to hitch-hike on his long green robe.

"Erisal, wait!" Lyn cried, running for the hill. Erisal almost chuckled, and trudged back up the hill to face his friend.

"I couldn't leave without a goodbye, huh." he said knowingly. Lyn looked downcast.

"But why leave at all? Erisal, you know I'd love to have you stay at Caelin, and-" Erisal raised a hand and cut her off.

"Lyn, I know you want me to stay here, but I really can't. There's still so much in my life that's unfinished. I-" Erisal paused, unsure of how to continue.

"I can't be tied down by anything. Even . . ." he blushed red, and looked at the ground. Lyn had to bend low to catch his next words.

"Even a beautiful woman like you." he mumbled. Lyn was taken aback, unsure of how to respond. Erisal looked up, and decided to get everything out in the open.

"Lyn . . . I loved you. But, with the age difference and all . . . I need to go." he said, stronger this time. The Sacaen woman was shocked. Erisal was only fifteen, sure, but still-

"Not because of my feelings for you!" he said quickly. "You've been a wonderful friend to me, and you've saved my life. I'm even attracted to you . . . I guess . . . I really do love you, Lyndis. But I've got to get away from Caelin." he explained. Lyn thought quickly, her mind reeling from the revelations that had taken place.

"If it's money you need, I could hire you." she said quickly. "I'd have no problem paying you; a princess never knows when she needs tactical advice." Erisal looked out, towards the midday sun, illuminating one of the most spectacular views of Sacae.

"Lyn, it's not money. Because of your new duties as the Princess, I know you can't do this; but I ask you: If you were my age, and in my shoes, and you had all of this-" he paused to motion towards the plains. "-just ripe for the taking. If you were able to see it all, to meet the people and change the world, tell me. Would you want to be held back?" Lyn's shoulders slumped. The answer was obvious; even being this close to the oceans of grass was making her weak.

"No. I wouldn't." she said glumly. Erisal tried to smile, and a tear slipped from his eye.

"I'll miss you, Lyn." he said, his voice breaking. "But I promise I'll drop in sometime, okay?" he added. Lyn smiled and embraced the boy, feeling joy and grief all at the same time.

"I'll miss you too, Erisal." Lyn said finally. The young tactician paused, before digging into his pockets. After a short while, he held out his hand and revealed his silver ring. Lyn stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do.

"I want you to have it, Lyn." the tactician said finally. Lyn made a small exclamation and took the ring from his hand; it fit perfectly onto her third finger. The words 'Faith' and 'Courage' gleamed brightly in the sun.

"Well, I've stuck around here long enough." Erisal said quickly; his voice took on such a casual tone that it made the moment seem strange.

"So long, Lyndis." he said at last, before turning his back and walking down the hill. Lyn watched him go, before fiddling with the ring he'd given her and turning back towards the castle.

-----

Erisal walked with difficulty through a patch of long grass, befor stopping and sighing to himself. He removed his bag and began undoing the straps that held the machete to the back, figureing he could simply cut his way through and everything would be easier.

A dark shadow was cast on his back, and he shivered before looking behind him. A particularly ugly brute was standing over him, and had raised a club over his head. Erisal yelled and quickly stabbed the Brigand in the stomach, pushing the man backwards. The ruffian was dead before he hit the ground, and Erisal turned slightly pale as he pulled the blade from his foe's belly and wiped it on the coarse leather clothes.

The tactician was about to leave when he caught sight of a tattoo on the man's cheek. It was crude, and made with plant dye, but there was no mistaking it. Two Iron axes, in the shape of a 'T'.

"Crap. I just killed a Taliver." Erisal murmured. He knew from past dealings that the Taliver were fiercely veangeful, and very rarely traveled on their own. Erisal looked up, and his trained eyes saw several more men making their way towards him. Erisal stood and ran-

Straight into the waiting arms of a Brigand. He grinned toothlessly, and pinned Erisal tight.

"Oh, not good-" Erisal began, but he was cut off by a sharp blow to the head. The rest of the Taliver bandits quickly came over to the teenagers limp body, trussing him with ropes and lifting them over their shoulders.

"So, Chief, what're we gonna do wit'im when we gets back to the camp?" a Brigand asked. The chief, a heavily muscled man with an eyepatch, smirked.

"We're gonna use him." he said. "That blasted Lorcan can't escape, no matter how far she runs. Sure, she's a poncy noble now, but that makes things sweeter. We can kill all her friends, and she won't be able to do a thing about it." the chief laughed.

"There will be no dawn for the men of Caelin! If it costs us our lives, the tribe of the Lorca shall be swept from the earth forever!" he cried, thrusting his axe in the air.

A mighty cheer erupted from the army below. Every manner of scum imaginable was there, and they easily numbered in the hundreds. Soldiers, Brigands, Mages, Archers; there was even a select Berserker or two.

The Taliver chief grinned wickedly as he descended into their camp. This tactician was famed for his skill- and now that skill would be put to proper use.

IceBlade28: And that'll about do it for Chapter one.

Serra: Oh, poor Erisal! Will this be a Lyn/Tactician fic?

IceBlade28: At the moment, I'm not sure how it'll turn out. I don't plan my stories- they write themselves. But I'm trying to 'guide' this fic so it doesn't turn into a Lyn/Tactician. I'm not the greatest fan of that particular pairing. Oh well.

Serra: R&R everyone!


	2. Chapter II: Corruption

IceBlade28: Alright then- no reminder of last chapter, no Serra prattling on- straight into it!

**Chapter II: Corruption**

Lyn frowned as she reached the gate. Erisal was only a teenager, and he'd only been gone for a day; why did she already miss him so? The Sacaen decided that it was just friendship. After all, she'd found him unconscious and bleeding on the plains. Maybe she just thought of him as a male version of Florina; he could take care of himself if he had to, but she liked to protect him.

The new princess unlocked the gate with the key awarded to her during the coronation. It was the master key, capable of opening every lock in the palace with the exception of one- Lyn's bedroom. They were a princess' private quarters, and not to be broken into.

Lyn paused as she turned back to the plains, breathing deep in it's scent. It was a misty sunset, unusual considering the common clarity of the air. The tribal diviners would undoubtedly be scanning the heavens, searching for news that bode well or ill.

They would find what they were looking for.

A figure stirred within the bushes lining the gate, pushing aside a few snagged branches as it emerged. Lyndis turned at the sound, and viewed the man with disgust.

"You . . ." he muttered. "You're Lyndis, ain't you? Ain't you?" he asked, growing angry. The plainswoman's face was taut, and her hand drifted towards the Mani Katti as she sized him up.

"Perhaps. Why?" she asked. The Brigand grinned toothlessly, and raised his axe.

"'Cause you'se gonna die now!" he yelled, bringing the weapon down hard. Lyn threw herself to the side, hearing the sound of a heavy blade in dirt. The Brigand turned around, furious.

"You ain't s'pposed ta move! I'll murder ye, ye heartless- graaaggh!" he cried, as an arrow shot from nowhere. The shaft pierced the left of his neck, and tossed him casually backwards. Lyn got to her feet, her sacred sword pulling her up as Wil and Kent rushed onto the scene.

"Milady Lyndis! Are you alright?" Kent asked quickly, turning to his liege. Lyn nodded, rushing over to the fallen foe. The Sacaen bent low, her face an ugly sight.

"Tell me why you are here and I will ease your passing, you scum!" she said spitefully. The Brigand laughed, in spite of his fatal wound.

"I was a messenger . ." he coughed, blood matting his beard. "We . . the Taliver . . . have something of . . of your's . . ." he collapsed into a fit of laughter, with more and more blood soaking his chin, before gurgling and flopping back.

Lyn stepped away from the carcass, frowning. The Taliver had something of hers? What? Her thoughts were interrupted by Kent.

"Milady, I apologise sincerely for the danger you have suffered. Please rest assured, I will be chastising the Caelin guards most severely for this slip, and-"

"Kent!" Lyn barked, unwilling to hear his apology at the moment. The cavalier looked at her quizzically.

"Yes, milady?"

"Don't worry about the guards, I can take perfectly good care of myself. It's how I lived on the plains," she added. The Crimson Shield stood tall, and bowed deeply.

"Milady?" he asked.

"Oh! Right," Lyn said. It was strange, these new rules and regulations. "You are dismissed, Kent," The knight nodded and turned swiftly to walk into the castle. Wil was about to follow suite when the Sacaen called him back.

"Wil! Come here for a second," Lyn called. The archer slung his bow over his shoulder and jogged to meet her. Lyn was crouching over the body of the Taliver, inspecting him.

"That was an impressive shot, Wil," Lyn said, touching the Steel shaft. The Pheraen smiled.

"Thank you, milady," he said, smiling. "I've made harder shots,"

"This man mentioned he had something of mine." Lyn said. "There haven't been any break-in's that I'm unaware of, have there?" The archer searched his memory.

"No, not that I know of, Lyn- sorry. Not that I know of, Lady Lyndis." Wil said. The Sacaen shivered; it wasn't to do with the wind.

"Let's go inside," she suggested, standing up. Wil nodded, casting a glance at the dead body as he followed his employer inside.

If they had checked his hand, they would have noticed a neck brooch in the shape of a pair of feathered wings; a brooch belonging to Erisal.

-----

The tactician woke to a pounding headache, and he placed a hand to his head in agony.

"Ohhh . . ." he groaned, before registering the clack of chains. He opened bleary eyes, and moved his wrist weakly. It was manacled, with a lengthy chain securing it to the floor. He would be able to move around quite a lot, but not escape.

"Sshhhhh . . ." said another voice. Erisal couldn't see, but a silhouette appeared in his fogged vision.

"I'm glad you're awake," it continued, and the teenager recognised the voice as that of a female. "Those brutes beat you senseless and left you with us . . . we weren't sure what to do," the voice added, sounding upset. Erisal reached up and wiped his eyes, trying to clear his vision. It took a little while to realise he was lying down, and he sat up groggily.

He was in a carriage! And it wasn't just a big carriage, but a fancy carriage too. There were many pillows, as well as fine sheets and rugs; and the floor seemed to be littered with gold coins. This must have been the Taliver's 'loot' carriage, Erisal decided. Everything valuable they stole or pillaged must have ended up here. The youth turned to the girl beside him; undoubtedly the girl who woke him up.

"Where am I?" he asked, finding his voice had strengthened. His head still ached, with good reason. There was no doubt in his mind that the Taliver bandits had continued beating the stuffing out of him after he was unconscious. His whole body was sore, but he turned his attention to the figure next to him. The girl seemed to be the same age as him, and was one of the prettiest women he had seen. Silky black hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her green eyes seemed to shine with concern. She was slightly shorter than Erisal, but not enough to mention; and her body seemed perfectly in proportion. The tactician's eyes travelled quickly over her body, evaluating her. He couldn't help it; he did this to every person he saw. Already he was trying to figure out what her personality would be like, whether or not she would be suited for combat, and many other attributes. Though the fact he found her so attractive made it a little harder. The girl was dressed in translucent satin, but to Erisal's eyes her clothes seemed too immodest for a girl so cute.

"You're in one of the carts of the Taliver bandits," she explained, looking around her. "This is where they keep most of their gold and valuables," she said, gesturing half-heartedly at the rest of the cart. To Erisal's surprise, there were several other women in the carriage, from slightly younger than he was to fully grown women, and some were clearly in their thirties.

"Um . . . why am _I_ here?" he asked awkwardly, trying to rise. The girl sighed, placing a soft hand against his chest.

"The Taliver were too lazy to carry you, so they stuffed you in here and told us to take care of you," she explained. "And please, don't move. You were beaten so badly . . you shouldn't move for a while," she added, gently pushing him back into the sheets and pillow. The tactician breathed deeply, feeling sleep overtake him.

"Just rest," the girl said. "I'll be here when you wake up,"

Erisal closed his eyes and almost allowed himself to drift into the realms of slumber.

"No," he said strongly, sitting up. "I cannot just rest here. Where are we? Where is this carriage?" he demanded. The girl frowned, and hit him in the face with a soft pillow.

"You shouldn't be moving, I told you already!" she said in a falsely grumpy voice. "Besides, we were in the east end of the Sacae plains, but we're headed for Lycia. The chief mentioned some place called Caelin," she explained. Erisal's amber eyes flickered at this new information.

"Caelin is where I came from," he said. "I helped Lyn obtain her rightful throne-" But the girl had cut him off.

"That's . . . can it be? Are you truly Erisal?" she said, her voice betraying some excitement. Erisal was a bit at a loss.

"Um . . . yes?" he said. The young girl bounced on the spot.

"Incredible . . ." she murmured. "Though I've been a slave for two years, even one such as I have heard tales of your exploits!" she said quickly. Erisal was completely blown away.

"Ooookay . . um . . . I don't even know your name yet," he said awkwardly. He hoped he could lead the girl down another line of conversation. The young girl smiled brilliantly.

"It's Cherian," she said. "I came from Ilia," Erisal smiled back.

"My name is Erisal," he said, offering his hand. Cherian blushed, and the tactician just smiled. Until he noticed that her eyes seemed to be scanning over his body. Erisal glanced down and bit his lip. His tactician's robes were torn badly, and were hanging off his body in shreds.

"Aw, man," Erisal moaned. It wasn't worth it; the tactician grabbed a handful of the material and tore it off, letting the rest simply fall to the floor.

"You don't have anything for me to wear, do you?" he asked, embarrassed. Cherian managed to stop checking him out long enough to take pleasure from the blush that was crossing his face.

"Not unless you want to wear translucent silk," she laughed. Erisal quickly inspected himself; going without a shirt for possibly several days in a room full of gorgeous women surprisingly wasn't his idea of heaven.

"It'd almost be worth it," he muttered, making Cherian laugh.

"Well, never mind, cutie," she said teasingly. "We don't bite," Erisal gave her a strange look and sat down on the make-shift bed, tugging irritably at his manacles.

"These are a pain, though," he muttered, yanking hard against the chain. The edge of the manacle bit deep into his wrist, and he flinched. Cherian smiled and sat down next to the broad-chested youth when the doors to the carriage slammed open.

"Bring the tactician here," a Brigand growled. "The Chief's got some business wiff the boy," Terror overcame several of the women's faces, and Cherian turned to the tactician quickly.

"The Taliver are barbarians," she said quickly. "Don't give them an inch; be strong," Cherian added, punctuating the remark with a swift kiss on his cheek.

The Brigand shoved several of the women aside and undid the lock on the manacles, shoving Cherian roughly aside. The teenage girl fell against the wood wall, hitting her head hard.

"Don't you touch her like that!" Erisal spat. The Brigand pulled back his fist and punched the tactician hard across the face. Erisal yelled, gritting his teeth.

"'Less'n you wants to come back lookin' like som'fin' the wolves've coughed up, you'd better keep them smart comments to youself," he growled, yanking Erisal off his feet and slamming the carriage door behind him.

-----

Erk sat in his room, fighting the urge to sleep. It was already well past sunset, and the hour was far spent. Nevertheless, the Etrurian sat at his desk by candlelight, pouring over a thick magical tome. It was one of the most complicated the mage had ever read; the title 'Elfire' emblazoned on the front cover. Though there were several of the hieroglyphs the mage couldn't read, he would write down a messy note or two on the sheet of parchment next to him. Consequently, there were very few who could read his notes other than himself.

"Erk," said a voice by the doorway. "Erk, why are you still up? You know I can't sleep if I know you're not sleeping!" The mage didn't even look up.

"Hello, Serra," he said glumly. Couldn't the meddlesome cleric see he was in the middle of unravelling a tome? If he could decipher the writing, he might be able to perform the 'ancient magicks' within. And if he could cast Elfire . . . his teacher would undoubtedly be proud of him. And perhaps he could be of use to Lady Lyndis for the remaining week of his stay.

"Erky, come to bed . . . I need my beauty sleep!" Serra complained, wandering over to the mage. Erk sighed, staring at the tome. He'd been working at a frenetic pace for several hours and was barely twelve pages into the book.

"Why do you need _me_ to sleep, Serra?" Erk asked. The cleric sat down on the desk in her pyjamas, pouting.

"Because you're supposed to escort me!" she huffed. "People could come after me in the night, you know! I need you to stand guard!"

Erk somehow managed to bite back a sarcastic reply and gazed briefly through the telescope. He looked away, into Serra's eyes.

"Fine, I'll come to your chambers. I still don't get why we're sleeping-" he paused as something came to his mind. The Etrurian turned and rushed back to the telescope, jamming his eye against the eyepiece. On a distant hill in the Sacaen plains, several burly figures were gathered around a central silhouette; that of a muscular young boy.

Erk stood still for a moment, digesting what he had just seen. With the attack on Lyndis today, it seemed the Taliver were getting more active . . .

"Serra, come with me," Erk ordered, striding down the hall. "We need to visit Lady Lyndis- now," Serra looked at her escort in astonishment.

"Eeeerrrrrrrrkk, can't this wait until morning?" she whined. The Etrurian barely spared a glance backwards.

"Serra, if my theory is correct, neither of us will be getting sleep for quite a time," he explained, walking quicker. The Ostian struggled to keep up, but she couldn't stop herself from making a last comment.

"Bother!"

-----

Lyn wasn't in her quarters; rather, she was standing on her favourite hill. The plainswoman didn't much care for rules; besides, no-one knew she was out here. It was important to Lyn that she have her moments to reminisce, to think of the hardships she had faced on the plains- and of the one man that had saved her life.

The young woman sighed, sitting down and gazing out at a not-too-distant hill. It looked like several figures had gathered on the hilltop, and Lyn leant forward. Possibly some tribal divination thing, she guessed. But it didn't look too much like it; several large men and a semi-muscular young boy weren't her first idea for tribal diviners.

"Shouldn't you be in your quarters, Lady Lyn?" said Matthew, emerging suddenly from a close shadow. Lyn's hand flew to her chest, and she gasped.

"Matthew! I didn't know you were there," she said, kind of overwhelmed. The cheery thief strode into the moonlight, sitting next to Lyn.

"Well, it's part of my job to be invisible," he quipped. Lyn smiled and gazed out to the plains again, watching the figures framed by the moonlight. A larger man delivered a punch to a smaller one, who fell to the ground. They weren't quite close enough to hear the words, but there was a great deal of shouting.

"Milady, would you like me to find out what's going on?" Matthew inquired innocently. He knew Lyn still had a strong tie to the plains, and if there was something amiss within them . . . Lyn nodded, still watching the people.

"Yes. Find out what's going on," she said slowly. The spy nodded and strode forward; despite his bright red cloak he was easily lost in the darkness.

Lyn frowned and held out her hand. It was starting to spit; soon it would give way to a mighty downpour.

-----

"The choice is simple," the chief of the Taliver said. "Use your tactician skills to give us the Caelin mansion, or die. No other options," he added, watching Erisal carefully. The tactician stared at the bandit with anger shining through his eyes.

"I will not have my skills wasted on the likes of you, nor will I live while I help you kill my friends," he spat. The two Brigands guarding him shared a look and punched him in either side of the ribs. Erisal cried out and sank to the ground, wheezing. The chief smiled at the collapsed boy.

"I thought you might say that. So, I'll give you a new choice: Work for us, or we slowly kill every slave in the caravan- and then we kill your Caelin friends," he said wickedly. Erisal didn't look up; he couldn't. The needs of few versus the needs of many; he knew he should never hesitate. And Cherian . . . he had just met her. She was wonderful, beautiful . . . yet another life tangled up in his web. Would anyone be left alive after his meddling?

"You can't do this!" he shouted, earning a kick while he was down. He moaned in pain, and the chief stared at him in disgust.

"Of course I can. That Lorcan brat should never have escaped; she deserves to die," he said simply. "And if you don't help us, we'll not only kill everyone you know, but we'll fatten the Lorcan whelp up, and then we'll eat her," the chief added with a particularly malicious smile. Erisal gave him a look that sent a clear message of 'I don't know whether to vomit or kill you.'

"You're bluffing," Erisal said, watching his eyes carefully. The chief laughed.

"Am I?" he said rhetorically. "We're the Taliver bandits, remember. There is no crime we will not commit; why do you think there were no bodies left in the remains of that Lorcan village?" Actually, the Taliver had burnt the bodies immediately, but the mind games were working on the boy. Besides, Erisal had been found unconscious on the plains, and his past so _obviously_ haunted him . . .

"Very well," he muttered bitterly. "I'll work for you," The Taliver chief clapped his hands in enjoyment.

"Brilliant!" he cried, glancing at the stone mansion less than a league away. "But just in case you try anything funny; each time something goes wrong for us, whether you planned it or not, we kill a slave. And if we find out you _did_ engineer it, we kill _two_ slaves and beat the pulp out of you," he added, the enjoyment thick in his voice. Erisal gazed at the Berserker loathingly, while the two guards grabbed him by his arms and dragged him away.

"You scum!" Erisal shouted, but he lost all memory after a heavy blow to the back of the head.

The chief watched them go, smiling. The first step of his plan was working perfectly. If all went well, they could take Caelin in almost a week . . . and the maiden's at Caelin mansion were said to be true beauties. Perfect for slaves.

Hanging from a nearby tree branch, Matthew froze. If he moved, he would be seen; the moonlight was very bright on this hill. It was a race; would he be able to warn Lyndis before the hordes of Taliver bandits stormed the mansion? And how much would Erisal give away?

It would break Lyn's heart to know he turned traitor. The how and why didn't matter; Erisal was using his talents for evil.

Beneath the full moon, an army began it's march.

IceBlade28: Alrighty then! Next chapter, the Taliver's first attack on the mansion! How much will Erisal reveal about Caelin's defences? Can Matthew make it back to Caelin before the army attacks? Will any of the slaves die, and if so, how will Erisal take it? Hope to see you in the next chapter! Reviews are much appreciated. I'll update soon, I promise!

Serra: Hey, what about me?

IceBlade28: I'm firing you as my muse.

Serra: You're _what!_ You can't do that!

IceBlade28: Yes I can, I'm the author.

Serra: But-

IceBlade28: No buts. Although . . . . fine. You're on probation until further notice.

Serra: Awwwww . . . . . I'll make Erky hurt you!

IceBlade28: I'm the author. Do not trifle with me. And to my readers- a review is always handy.


	3. Chapter III: The First Blood

IceBlade28: Believe it or not, here it is: Chapter III of The Blood Of Pride!

Serra: Geez, you've left it long enough! When was the last time you updated?!

IceBlade28: Lemme check . . . November 27th, 2005.

Serra: Well, it's time for chapter III! Start the fic!

**Chapter III: The First Blood**

Matthew ran through the bushes, pushing away branches. It was a race against time; the Taliver bandits were running freely, while Matthew had to move through long grass and foliage to get back to Lyn. The guards had to be warned, Lyn needed to be secured . . . doubtless she'd be difficult, but she _was_ the Princess of Caelin now, and Princesses did not belong on battlefields, no matter how much Lyn fought against it. The bruised ego of a young woman was considerably lower on Matthew's 'preservation' list than the entirety of the castle's occupants.

With a leap and a bound, Matthew wrapped a fist around some draping vines and started climbing over the Caelin walls. It really was too easy to break into this place. He'd have to talk to the royal gardeners.

"Everybody, wake up now! Sound the alarm!" Matthew bellowed, dashing through deserted corridors and making his way to the barracks. "An army is invading! Every soldier, get up _now_!" Matthew growled to himself and sprinted harder, taking several doors and clearing a table at one point. The thief turned haphazardly around a corner and collided with something loud and pink.

"Ow!" Serra squealed. Matthew rubbed his ear; a full-blown Serra Scream could be as painful as a well-placed sword.

"May I ask what our resident thief is doing hurtling around the castle at the early hours of the morning?" Erk asked, picking his book up and sweeping his cloak out of his face. Matthew gritted his teeth and jabbed out a window.

"Waking you all up so _that_ doesn't get in and kill you," Matthew said, pointing at a sea of torches, glistening blades and a caravan. Erk stared out the window in shock.

"Elimine's name, there must be more than a hundred of them; no, two hundred! We can't survive a direct assault!" he said. Matthew refused to hear it.

"We'll survive long enough," he snapped, racing for Lyndis' room. Erk continued to the barracks, intent on waking every soldier and knight that called himself a Caeliner.

-----

The Taliver chief smiled at the serene castle.

"Perhaps this will be easier than I thought," he said to the manacled Erisal. "Now, which way do we go to get in?" Erisal gave the Berserker a dark stare. He cuffed the boy around the mouth.

"I said 'which way', boy," the chief barked. "Your silence will cost a slave girl her life!"

"Around the back. There's a pair of wooden doors that leads out into the plains. Lady Lyn uses them whenever she's feeling reminiscent. The lock is weak, and there's a corridor when you go in. The problem is, the barracks are on the opposite side of the wall. Lady Lyndis doesn't have to worry about them, and as long as your army is quiet, you probably won't either," Erisal said bitterly. The chief of the Taliver grinned. It certainly fit with what information he'd already gleaned, and the boy wouldn't be stupid enough to lie. Erisal had given the Taliver the biggest security weakness of Caelin Castle, and it had been laid like a lamb before a hungry wolf. The chief smiled and patted the boy on the head, ruffling his hair. Erisal made a half-hearted attempt to push the hand away, but he was still bruised and sore.

The chief gave his orders and watched his army make it's slow way to the rear wall of the castle grounds. This might just be easier than he thought. Still, with the tactician's help, reluctant as it may be, it would be easy.

The Taliver chief still felt disappointed. He wanted action. He wanted blood. He wanted to feel like he had _earned_ his way into the castle, because it was definitely one of the fancier castles in Lycia.

"You know what, Tactician? I think I'll let you rest with the wenches; it looks like it's going to be easy pickings tonight," the Berserker said charitably. "Rest easy. Soon, your friends will be dead, and the Lorcan whelp will be in chains while we fatten her up to eat her," he mocked, chuckling. Erisal kept his mouth shut, hoping the chieftain wouldn't see his heart rend itself. The Berserker made claws out of his hands and bared his teeth like a cannibal.

"Raar," he mocked, before struggling not to break out in laughter at his own pathetic joke. "Get rid of the boy," he said with a wave of his gloved hand. A pair of goonish Brigands picked the boy up under the arms and carried him back to the caravan; a distance of less than a hundred metres.

Opening the fine door, they shoved Erisal unceremoniously into the object behind the door-

The anxious eyes of Cherian, as well as the majority of the slave women. Erisal pulled himself to his knees, before loping to a corner and covering his face with his hands. Cherian's face could easily be read as sympathetic, and she crawled over to the young boy.

"Hey," she cooed. "It's alright. I heard what you told the Taliver chief. It must've been hard; but I have faith in your friends. They'll pull through. Lyndis' Legion defeated Lundgren, right? How much trouble can an army of bandits be?" Cherian said, in an effort to cheer the tactician up. Erisal curled into a ball and began to cry. He couldn't face the consequences of his words. Cherian bit her lip.

"There, there," she said gently, pulling him close for a hug. Erisal couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He loved Lyn, they'd grown close to each other, she meant the world to him- but here was Cherian, smelling of fine perfume, her ample chest nudging his head, she was so soft, so beautiful, so innocent and pure . . . and he'd just endangered the two women who meant more to him than his own soul. Erisal wept harder.

"They'll pull through, don't worry," the slave girl said tenderly. Erisal shook his head.

"It's not that. I . . . you heard what I said, right?" Erisal choked. Cherian felt a cold shiver, and she looked at one of her friends on impulse.

"Yes?" she said slowly. Erisal couldn't say it. He couldn't, but these girls had a right to know. They had a right to know who had killed them.

"I lied."

-----

Wallace held a firm Silver lance in his grasp, standing at the rear of the Caelin platoon. A second lance was slung over his back. There was no room for horsemen in the narrow hallway; and there were too few Soldiers who could cram themselves into this one. But, if what Erk said and Matthew said and whatever-the-heck-Serra-jabbered could be believed, then the entire army of the Taliver bandits would enter through the pair of wooden double doors at the head of the hallway. There were only forty personnel in this hallway; seven Archers, two Snipers, twenty Knights and ten Soldiers. Then there was Wallace. The only General, and by far the most powerful man who stood in that empty stone bath that called itself a hallway.

The muted sound of metal snapping jerked every man's senses to full alert. The lock on the door had been snapped. Battle was only seconds away.

Behind the door Wallace guarded, Kent, Sain and their cavaliers had their men ready, filling the banquet hall. Rather, the friends of Lyndis had what was left of the Caelin troops stationed in the banquet hall. General Wallace had gutted their force, taking close to three quarters of the Caelin soldiers. If they failed to stop the Taliver, then servants and kitchenhands may be forced to take arms. Kent fervently prayed that such measures would not have to be taken. The Crimson Lance prayed the door would hold. The door Wallace guarded had numerous large locks that could be permanently shut at a moment's notice.

Within the corridor, Wallace watched as the exit crept open, pouring the white light of the moon into the corridor. For a cherishable second, everything was bathed in the peaceful light of a full moon.

Before the light was blocked out by a charging army.

"Hold your ground!" Wallace bellowed. These Soldier's were Caelin's finest, and a vast amount of lives would be spared if these elite could head off this assault.

The Taliver bandits charged.

The first wave crashed into the ranks of Wallace's men, and the various musical sounds of metal on metal filled the hallway. Several Brigands had fallen already, but it was far too little: already Wallace counted seven of the Taliver had fallen, but so had five Caelin Soldier's. They needed to change things up quickly if they were going to hold the door.

A Caelin Soldier twirled his lance and stuck it through a Brigand's heart, removing it quickly to parry a horizontal swipe from the deceased's neighbour. Many screams were being heard, and for one clear second the Soldier saw the Holy Grail of battlefield strategy- a clear path through the majority of the ranks. A path to the slave carriage, and a path to the Taliver chieftain.

Without warning, the Soldier grabbed the arm of a Knight close by him and started running, fending off blows as best he could. The Knight lashed out at a nearby Mage, hoping for an easy kill. He was rewarded by the sound of his body on the stone; he never heard the incantation.

The Soldier was left alone, and kicked an archer in the head, felling him. The Taliver chief watched as the single man climbed the hill and stood before him. The Berserker laughed.

"Well well well!" he boomed. "Someone made a break through the ranks of my army. Proud of yourself?" The Soldier shrugged.

"I suppose so." The chief laughed.

"Aren't you meant to say something about how you'll kill me?" he mocked, his hand fingering his axe. Beneath his helmet, the Soldier grinned.

"I don't fear death, though I've no doubt I'll meet it soon enough. And I've noticed: not one of your men is a healer. If you get injured, you can't do anything to reverse it," The Soldier explained, thrusting hard.

The Berserker caught the shaft in one hand, stopping it dead. The Soldier's eyes could be seen through the narrow slit of the helmet, illuminated by the light of the moon. To the Taliver's surprise, there was no fear. Just a never-say-die look.

"If my men could have half your spirit," he offered. The Soldier nodded.

"Make it quick." The Berserker broke the lance in half and tossed both lengths away, before reaching out with a massive limb and twisting the Soldier's neck a full one-hundred-eighty degrees.

"Quick enough?"

-----

Back within the hallway of stone, Wallace's soldiers were having severe difficulty. Despite the miniscule hole in the ranks that Wallace's lieutenant had squeezed through, the ranks of the Taliver were pouring into the stone hallway, trampling over both Caelin and Taliver corpses to reach those few elite that still stood in the name of Lady Lyndis. Those few consisting of two Soldier's, a Knight, a single Sniper and a single Mage.

A scream and the sizzle of burnt flesh reached Wallace's ears, and he cursed. There went the last Knight. The two Soldiers quickly followed, leaving the Sniper and Mage as easy cannon fodder. That's not to say these last five men went down quietly. Wallace noticed with satisfaction that the army was backing off, passing bodies from man to man in a chain leading outside the castle. Many of the Taliver had fallen, and no bandit seemed particularly eager to engage the seasoned General.

It didn't take long before a line of weathered Brigands, each wielding a bloodied axe, stood before the Crag of Caelin. Then came something nobody could have predicted.

Laughter.

Wallace was holding his Silver lance high and proud, and laughing.

Behind the door, Sain nudged his partner.

"What do you think that's all about?" he asked Kent. The Crimson Shield shook his head. The worst had come.

"General Wallace is about to die," he said. Sain looked introverted, perhaps for the first time in his life. A great man would perish behind a door that was locked, stopped, wedged and solidly barred from any entrance.

"So, lads . . . you're the one's who'll see me off then, eh?" Wallace roared. The Brigands exchanged glances of multiple emotions; fear, uncertainty, confusion, and a case of easily excited bowels being among them. Wallace spun his lance over his head and brought it down in an offensive position, stamping hard on the floor. The vibration travelled back to those standing just outside the exit, and the stone tile under Wallace's foot shattered.

"Then let's get on with it!!" the General bellowed, moving forward like a veritable steam train. The Brigands didn't stand a chance; neither did the rank behind them, or the third or even fourth line of axe-wielding murderers. Their weapons broke against his armour in a rather similar fashion to their bones and heads.

And Wallace gloried in every minute of it.

-----

The Taliver chieftain stood watching the exit out of the castle, not liking the screams and sounds of splintering weapons that were echoing out of the door. Eventually a scrawnier Brigand, one of the wimpier but fleet of foot Taliver more used to carry messages than do any actual work on the front line came running up the hill.

"Chief!" he gasped. "The men left down there are calling for reinforcements, everyone we can spare!" The Berkserker wasn't too happy to hear about this.

"The General isn't dead yet? How many men has he killed?!"

"Um . . . forty-two, so far-" The messenger was cut off by a particularly bloodcurdling crunch that reached them.

"Forty-three now, if I'm not mistaken," the messenger gulped. The chief of the Taliver had a bad habit of killing a messenger if he didn't like the news. The Berserker growled; it was a low, primeval growl that the wimpier messenger had heard before. It was the sound of The Beast being let out. The Brigand promptly scurried out of the way as the Taliver chief drew his axe and barrelled down the hillside, allowing momentum to carry himself into the stone hallway. He trampled multiple bodies in his rampage, but eventually he stood before Wallace.

The General drew himself up, withdrawing his Silver lance from a Brigand's body.

"So, I've made the head honcho angry, have I?" Wallace said teasingly. "Killed enough little mice to draw out the rat." The Taliver chief held his axe tight.

"You're the one giving us all the trouble, eh? Well, I thought I should tell you- you will not survive to see the dawn!" he said. Wallace's fighting spirit blazed anew, and he was done with words.

"By my name as the Crag of Caelin-" Wallace spread his arms wide, blocking the door in a defiant stance. The Berserker snarled.

"You shall not pass!" he yelled. The chief yelled and struck out with his axe, causing a dent to appear in Wallace's armour. The General lashed back, and the duel began.

-----

Matthew slid along the outside wall, sticking to the shadows. Lady Lyndis had demanded an update on the situation, so the Ostian spy was creeping through the darkness and narrowly avoiding the Taliver that patrolled the only entrance to the castle they held.

Carefully, he peeked inside the opened double doors.

The Berserker chief had minor wounds, but Wallace's armour looked like it had been thrown off a cliff; it was dented badly and wouldn't survive too many more hits.

Matthew winced. While there were an awful lot of bodies out here, most of them Wallace's doing, the General's men had failed overall. Perhaps a third of the army had been totalled, but it had cost them nearly the entire Caelin regiment in the process.

Wallace lunged at the Taliver's neck and managed to score a hit; while it wasn't much, it had opened a major artery and the Berserker's high adrenaline was causing the blood to pump out at an accelerated rate. The Taliver placed a hand to his neck, staring at the blood.

Dropping his axe, he roared as he swept Wallace's lance aside, and by some dark miracle grabbed the General by his armour and hoisted him into the air.

Matthew's jaw dropped. Bleeding and angry, the Berserk chieftain had lifted Wallace in a full suit of armour off the ground!

Wallace's lance, however, was not out of his grasp. It was dangling by it's recoil chain, and the Crag of Caelin took the opportunity to flick the lance up and stab it through the Berserker's stomach.

With a roar that probably put some poor hellhound to shame, the Taliver chieftain threw Wallace at the door, pulling the lance out of his stomach in the process. Wallace hit the door full force; on the other side, a fine layer of dust was blasted off and some of the weaker locks shattered.

Winded and prostrate, Wallace spat blood as he realised the truth: the impact had torn his helmet off.

The General looked up as the Berserker's axe filled his vision-

And the Crag of Caelin died, alone but proud, in a hallway filled with blood and bodies.

-----

Matthew placed a hand over his mouth. General Wallace had died. A man who had defeated fifty axe-wielding cutthroats, and mortally wounded their berserk chieftain. And he was dead. Caelin had lost their most feared fighting man.

The thief flicked his cloak and vanished into an untouched shadow. The sun was beginning to rise, and the unseen paths Matthew had taken to spy on their enemies were being erased. Lady Lyndis would be distraught. Wallace had been a key part in helping her to claim the throne. If they got out of this, the General would have a fitting funeral.

Matthew dropped over a wall and scurried away, into the bowels of the Caelin castle.   
Those left deserved to know what they were up against.

-----

Erisal glanced through bloodshot eyes at a ray of sunlight, falling on Cherian's sleeping form. The slave girl's hair was spread over her body, translucent silk shimmering as the light danced over it. Her face was gentle in sleep, and the morning light illuminated her features into a truly striking sight. Erisal managed a scarred grin. If beauty could take a female form, for just one morning . . .

The poetic scene was spoiled by the door of the caravan being slammed open and the enraged Taliver chieftain storming in. Erisal had the opportunity to notice a large, red, and wet bandage wrapped multiple times around the Berserker's stomach. The Taliver chief had been wounded.

"You!" he bellowed, jabbing a finger at Erisal. "You filthy liar! Those doors led straight into the barracks! We lost a third of our army to that blazing General! And you will suffer the appropriate price!"

Roaring, the Berserker grabbed a slave girl by her throat and stormed outside. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and her eyes screamed the fear that her voice could not. The same pair of goonish Brigands earlier seen grabbed a girl each and followed the chieftain out of the caravan.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?!" Erisal yelled, diving on one of the Brigands. Without hesitation, the untouched Taliver tossed his slave girl to the ground and grabbed Erisal by the head, twisting the tactician off the second Brigand. They each proceeded to punch Erisal in the stomach until he was lying in a little puddle of tears and bile. Looking up, he saw each girl bound and gagged, lying on their knees. Each woman must have been younger than thirty, and had the same dazzling features as Cherian, who Erisal was forced to admit he was falling in love with, despite his yearning for Lyndis.

The Taliver chief stood tall, while three Brigands held axes at the edges of the slaves necks.

"This is the price for defiance!" he said, motioning to his servants.

Erisal looked away, as six muted thumps reached his ears. He couldn't look. The brilliant tactician of Lyndis' Legion had just killed three innocent girls.

"You dastard!" Cherian shrieked, dashing from the caravan. Erisal managed a pithy "No,", but he barely heard it himself. One of the Brigands grabbed her roughly, while the other two pinned her arms and legs. The Berserker laughed.

"Well, well, well!" he boomed. "It looks like we have another defiant mouse! Maybe the mouse misses her friends. Let's not disappoint her!" Erisal's eyes blazed, despite the bruises that covered his body. He didn't hear himself scream 'No', he only felt his legs pumping, charging for the three Brigands, it didn't matter if he died in the process, they wouldn't hurt Cherian, enough blood had been spilt-

Erisal froze as the razor feathers of three arrows brushed past his elbows and sent the Brigands to an appropriate afterlife. Cherian fell to the ground, but quickly rushed to Erisal's side, grabbing his arms and pulling him towards the caravan and inadvertently spinning him to see the launcher of the arrows.

Erisal's mouth hung open as he was pulled into the caravan and the door was slammed by a sobbing Cherian. The three people he'd seen on the plains- it was incredible Wil had even found him, but who was the myrmidon with them?

Rath, Wil, and an unknown swordsman had saved the life of Cherian. He owed them his life, perhaps more.

The tactician caught the eyes of Cherian. Emerald, glazed with tears, and shining with defiance and hate. Erisal couldn't help wondering- was the hate for him, or for the Taliver? It didn't matter. Dots were exploding in his own eyes, and his chest refused all oxygen. He surrendered to the blackness.

-----

The Taliver chieftain drew his axe, bellowing at his army.

"Those three, down on the plains! Kill them!" he shouted.

A horde of roughly fourscore Brigands drew their weapons and thundered down the hill towards a trio of defiant mercenaries.

-----

"Well, here they come," the myrmidon said, holding his Killing Edge. He shared a look with Wil and Rath; they both drew arrows and notched their bows.

"Good luck, Guy," Wil said.

"Good luck, Wil. And you too, Rath," Guy said, shifting into a defensive stance.

Rath didn't blink, but for an instant, he allowed his thoughts to drift to a fierce Sacaen princess, who was slightly more than a friend.

"For Lyndis," Rath said, nodding to Wil.

Two shafts disappeared into the horde of the Taliver.

IceBlade28: There ends another chapter of The Blood Of Pride. Did you like it?

Serra: Wow, things are getting dark! Poor Erisal; those three girls weren't his fault.

IceBlade28: Well, the Taliver chief isn't someone to go back on his word if it involves killing someone. Serra, tell them about the next chapter.

Serra: Next chapter, Erisal has become a physical and emotional wreck; does Cherian blame him for the deaths of her three friends? Rath, Wil, and a Kutolah myrmidon named Guy make a stand on the plains, and Lyndis orders Matthew to attempt to free the tactician. Florina decides to make an envoy to Pherae, in the hopes of enlisting Lord Eliwood's help in defending Caelin Castle. But will Eliwood have the chance to help before Lyndis is overrun?

IceBlade28: It won't be anywhere near as long before another update, I promise!

Serra: Reviews are much appreciated!


	4. Chapter IV: Stand Alone, Die Alone

IceBlade28: I'm updating my three multi-chapter fics a bit more evenly now, so here's Chapter IV of The Blood Of Pride! Sorry about the wait!!

Serra: You're so lucky you haven't killed me in this fic yet.

IceBlade28: Well, the Taliver are brutal, so you never know . . .

Serra: For your sake, you'd better be joking.

IceBlade28: (sweatdrop) Let's get started!

**The Blood Of Pride**

**Chapter IV: Stand Alone, Die Alone**

Lyn stared out her window at the slave caravan. According to Matthew's report, Erisal and a number of slave women were held captive within. If she could hack her way through more than a hundred-fifty Taliver bandits, she might be able to save them. With the meagre forces left at her disposal, Lyndis was having serious doubts that Caelin Castle would stand much longer. While she could easily out-siege them, she had no hope if the full force of the Taliver attacked at once.

The Sacaen woman strode to a desk, scribbling a few notes onto a roll of parchment, peering out another window at the expansive Taliver army. Frowning, Lyndis lifted a finger and tapped the glass slowly, counting.

She gave up after forty. There were too many; and she was only counting the ones that didn't use axes. The future of Caelin Castle looked very grim, unless they got some miraculous reinforcements. But no message had gotten out of the attack; only the citizens knew, and they weren't taking the chance of catching the Taliver's eye.

A knock on her bedroom door warranted Lyn's attention. Lyn strode to the heavy wood door and pulled it open, allowing Matthew into her room.

"I've got the latest reports, Lady Lyndis," he said respectfully. Lyn nodded, meaning for Matthew to continue.

"We've lost approximately two-thirds of our fighting force, although we can regain a small part if the staff and servants of the castle are willing to fight. Many of the cooks and male servants have already expressed their wishes to use kitchenware- knives, frying pans and the like- as weapons in battle. Several have taken to tying meat cleavers onto broom handles and are currently practising in the courtyard, displaying a range of efficiency. The handmaidens, ladies and the like are putting together a rather potent array of home-made armament; hot oil, burning spices on the wind and such. Commander Kent and the remaining military leaders feel it is best if we wage a guerrilla war, rather than facing the Taliver face-on. They are awaiting your approval, Lady Lyn," Matthew reported. Lyn nodded, consuming the facts as they were presented to her.

"I don't want the servants fighting unless we can't evacuate them," Lyn said. "They're innocent people with no training in war. Keep them back unless there is no alternative." Matthew nodded.

"I understand," he said, though inwardly he disagreed. In desperate times, if someone could fight, then they should fight. No questions asked. "I'll inform the non-military personnel currently training to disarm and stand down immediately." Saluting, Matthew left with a twirl of his red cloak.

Lyn sighed and went back to staring out the window at the horde of murderers making the fields outside their resting place. How could such an army have amassed in the Sacae plains and Lyndis not catch word of it? And all of this to destroy Caelin? It wasn't any half-baked rabble either, it was the Taliver . . .

Lyn froze on her bed. It wasn't Caelin. It was her. All of this, Erisal's abduction, Wallace's death, the fighting and hostages. The Taliver wanted _her_. They wanted to finish the job they started nineteen years ago, on that bloody night in the grass. The only reason the Taliver had come to Caelin was to kill the last surviving Lorcan.

She pulled her Mani Katti off the rack on her bedroom wall, tying it firmly around her waist. She was leaving Caelin. If she left, her friends would be spared, and the Taliver would leave. She saw no other choice for her.

Lyn scribbled a quick note on a roll of parchment and sneaked out the door, moving down the hallway for a secret passage she'd discovered some months ago. It should let her out of a dead, hollow tree trunk close to the horde of Taliver. She was a fast runner. She could survive. And perhaps Erisal would have a chance to escape.

-----

Erisal leaned his head against the wooden wall of the carriage, biting his lip. Cherian was still weeping from the deaths of her three friends, and Erisal felt guilty because he had basically killed them himself.

"Cherian," he said softly.

"Don't talk to me," she seethed. "Don't look at me, don't touch to me, just stay away." Erisal exhaled sharply.

"Cherian, I-I tried, I did-"

"How could you?" she said, staring at Erisal through teary eyes. This was no accusation, against which Erisal could have dealed with practiced ease; but rather a painful, innocent plea. "How could you betray us like that?" she cried. Erisal's met her eyes, acknowledging her hurt before turning away. Cherian approached him, and placed a hand to his cheek, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said quietly. "I just . . . I . . ." Erisal glared at her, brushing her hand away.

"I killed your friends. If you want to hate me, join the queue," he spat. "Providing I don't kill you too." Cherian shook her head.

"It wasn't you! Those beastly Taliver-"

"The Taliver held the axes, but it makes little difference. I had a choice, I knew the consequences, and I took it anyway," Erisal hissed. "The brigands outside murdered your friends, but I may as well have beheaded them myself. It's their blood on my hands." Cherian looked at his hands and saw they had been stained a deep wet red.

"You've been a slave all your life, and you come to a murderer with _pity_ in your eyes?" he said, laughing. "Worse, it's pity for _him_?" He laughed harder, enjoying the sight of Cherian recoiling.

"Oh, this is grand! A beautiful girl meets her hero, the famed tactician who worked with the noble Lyndis to secure her throne, defeat the evil Lundgren and restore peace to Caelin!" he mocked. "And now she finds herself trapped in a nightmare, when that same hero turns out to be a murdering coward who leads naive fools straight into an early grave!"

Cherian stared at Erisal with hurt eyes, and the tears dripping down her face completed the picture of a delicate weeping goddess. Erisal stared at Cherian, who was crying wordlessly and still staring at the bruised strategist.

"And now the heart of that same beautiful maiden shatters," he said softly, quietly enough that only Cherian heard him. "As the tactician she once knew submits before insurmountable odds."

Erisal slid down the wooden wall of the carriage before he placed his head on his knees and moaned with self-pity. Cherian hesitated before crawling forward and placing her arms around Erisal, moving his head onto the soft skin of her shoulder. The boy cried into her hair, akin to a little boy wanting comfort from his mother.

Cherian nestled her face into the nape of Erisal's neck, and he shivered from the wetness of her tears. Once both were comfortable, they cried as one, draining their anxieties and grief away in a myriad of tears; tears that sparkled in the sunlight of the day. Sparkling in blatant disregard to the atrocities the members of the caravan had suffered.

"I have to warn Lyndis," he mumbled into Cherian's hair. "Lyn needs me. I . . . I love her."

This simple truth cut Cherian deeper than anything Erisal had said.

-----

Rath launched another shaft into the horde running down the hill. The arrow caught a hefty Brigand in the head and sent him tumbling, tripping others and causing a sizeable pile of soldiers in the middle of a hill. Wil was sending every missile he had into the horde, his eyes blazing.

"It won't end here," he muttered. "I will see Rebecca again. I will not disappoint Lady Lyn."

Guy walked slowly out in front of the archers, holding his Killing Edge. The axeman at the front of the two-score Taliver gave a yell and ran faster, charging for the Sacaen. The swordsman's green eyes were blazing, and with a fluid movement cut off his enemy's hands and head.

With one kill to his name, Guy flicked his braid behind him and ran into the army, sword scything around him as arrows fell like sparse rain. Axemen fell before they could react.

Wil rolled to the side as a Fire spell scorched the grass where his feet had been, and a swift arrow promised that he wouldn't have to worry about the caster again. He paused for one precious moment to check his arrow supply: half depleted. Reshouldering his quiver, he yelled as a Taliver swordsman ran past him. Twirling, he planted an arrow between the man's shoulder blades and sent two more into the pack of Taliver in front.

He didn't know about the blood pouring from his body until his legs folded beneath him. Breathing lightly, he gave a little sigh and flopped to the grass, staring up at the sky.

"Wil," Rath called, twirling an arrow between his fingers and taking out a Sniper who had stopped to take aim. "Wil, get up." The archer didn't hear his friend; everything was muffled and peaceful. It really was like all the tales and expectations about death.

Rath cursed darkly in Sacaen and galloped over, picking the archer up and slinging him onto the horse.

"Guy! Fall back, we're moving out! Retreat!" Rath bellowed, kicking his horse and riding in haste for Castle Caelin.

"I'm not done yet!" Guy yelled, battle lust filling his gaze. He had become careless and allowed the Taliver to surround him, yet the bodies continued to pile around him as the grass became slippery from death. He growled as he cut down a mage; a brigand; a fellow Sacaen, and even a Berserker. It was a dance of carnage.

Guy was adrift in his own world until his sword shattered and fell from his grasp. Ducking an axe, he pushed past the lad and decked a mage, running until he found his goal: he was no longer surrounded. Now it was a matter of speed.

"Can you run, scum?" he yelled, caught in the giddy rush of survival. He sprinted towards Caelin Castle without stopping for breath, ignoring the pleading from his legs and lungs.

The Taliver chieftain watched the developments, grounding his teeth.

"Shall I pick him off, sir?" said a scar-eyed Sniper, who also had a cultural variety of knives strapped to his waist. The chieftain raised a finger, telling him to wait.

"He's spent all his energy in combat. He won't make it to the walls. Let him taste of desperation, and knock him out. I dare say our men need a little . . . sport to put morale back into them," the Berserker said calmly. The man with a scar on his eye nodded, smiling as he descended the hill to count the dead. He wasn't smiling when he got back to the top, after slipping twice on wet grass.

"S-Sir," he gasped. "We lost over twenty men in that battle." The chief growled.

"Twenty men to two archers and a swordsboy?" he seethed, before scruffing the Sniper and bringing him to eye level- a distance of more than three feet from the ground.

"Get me my gutting axe, and everyone with thirty kills to their name," he yelled, spittle flecking the Sniper's face.

"I'm having Lorcan tonight!"

-----

Matthew pressed his back to the slave caravan, holding his knife tight beneath his cloak. Three sentries were dead, and it was almost noon. For a thief, these were particularly compromised and volatile security standards. One yell could set the entire the thing to blaze.

Matthew slipped beneath the carriage, taking his knife out and setting it in a gap between two logs. Taking a deep breath, he stuck the point deep into the tiny breach and levered, until he had a gap barely big enough for him to slip through. And slip through he did, into the awaiting convoy of women and girls.

"Matthew," Erisal said hoarsely, from a pile of cushions in the corner. The thief turned and grimaced. The boy had taken multiple beatings over a period of days, and his torso and face was a mass of purple and black bruising.

"Erisal. So Lyn's theory was true."

"Theory?"

"That's my opinion, at least. She knew you were kidnapped but only had circumstantial evidence to go on," Matthew explained. Erisal nodded.

"This is Cherian," he said, gesturing to the stunning raven-haired Ilian. "She's a slave for the Taliver. Everyone in this place is."

"Which is why Lyn's trying to get you all out," Matthew explained. "I'll have to do it in portions. The most important thing first: Erisal, you need to leave. I have to get you back to Caelin, where you'll be safe." Erisal shook his head.

"I'm not leaving these girls. If I escape, the Taliver will kill everyone." Matthew pushed back frustration.

"If you don't leave with me, then everyone in Caelin will die and a province of Lycia will fall to bandit rule. Is that what you want?" he said harshly. "Do you want Lyndis dead? Everyone you know, can you condemn them to fall beneath a Brigand's axe?" Erisal flashed back to that merry night he danced with Lyndis. She was so beautiful, so fierce and proud and wonderful and free. He was in love with her, there was no point denying it.

"Can you get everyone out?" he asked. Matthew thought quickly.

"Maybe. But we have to go _now_," he said. Erisal nodded.

"Cherian, you first. Down through the hole."

"But you're-"

"I'll be right behind you, everyone will be. You go," Erisal insisted. Cherian bit her lip, attractive features made more so by worry.

"Okay," she said, kneeling in translucent silk. She slid her arms through the hole, before following with her head. With a little twisting her shoulders managed to make it through, along with her ample bust.

Cherian was halfway out when she found she couldn't move. She wriggled until she figured out the reason; despite there being no-one to see, she blushed. Her hips were too wide to fit through the hole, and she could feel her behind rubbing against the wood as she bent and contorted.

"I-I-I'm stuck," she whispered, ashamed. Staring in front of her, Cherian would've been mortified if she wasn't busy panicking. A pair of boots was heading straight for the caravan.

Matthew heard the footsteps and grabbed Cherian's legs, pulling her violently out of the hole. It was too costly, however, as the door slammed open and exposed Matthew in the midst of slave women and a battered tactician.

"Who the-" The Taliver brigand would have continued if Matthew's knife hadn't quickly and efficiently ended his life. The thief bolted for the door and paused a fraction of a second.

"Erisal, it's now or never. I'm not waiting up for you- come with me now or stay and die!" he said, before dashing away along some unknown grassy path. Erisal watched him run, before turning to Cherian, who was fixing her tiny ruffled silk skirt.

"Cherian, will you come with me?" he asked. The girl paused before shaking her head.

"No. If I leave, my friends will die. We've been together so long, and I can't abandon them now," she said. Erisal nodded, pausing to punch the lights out of some foolish swordsman who strayed too close to the entrance.

"Then I stay with you," he said firmly, slamming the door and barring it with a gold sceptre. Cherian looked back at the door.

"But Lyndis . . . you said you . . ." Erisal's face was masked, but his eyes told the real story.

"I do, I love her. More than any girl I've known. But she's a warrior. She can fight. She will survive. I won't let any more innocent people die," he said viciously. Turning away, he closed his eyes. _Oh Father Sky, please let Lyndis survive what I have done_. _Don't let me have killed the woman I love_.

-----

Kent made his way to stables, holding Huey's saddle. Florina was waiting there, securing a pack of javelin's to her Pegasus' side.

"Are you sure you can do this? It's no simple feat," he asked, concerned. "Maybe I should do this." Florina shook her head.

"L-Lord Eliwood will help us, I'm sure of it. We n-need help, or Caelin won't survive, will it?" she stammered. Kent gave an admiring smile.

"The Florina I first met wouldn't have dared even thinking of this. You're a braver, better person than before, and I know you won't fail." Florina smiled back, before slipping a few Vulneraries into her bag.

"I'll save Lady Lyndis, and all of Caelin," she said, saddling Huey and brushing a strand of violet hair out of her face. Kent walked to the end of the stable and booted open the door, allowing a view into the courtyard and the open sky.

"Go!" he yelled, caught in the moment. Florina and her mount barrelled down the runway and out into the courtyard, and with a massive kick the two were airborne and rising fast.

"Good luck, Florina," Kent mumbled. "Just don't get killed out there."

IceBlade28: That oughta do it- Chapter IV, finished!

Serra: Hope you liked it! Next time, on The Blood Of Pride:

Lyndis has fled Caelin Castle, and plans to forfeit her own life in a hopeless fight against the Taliver hordes. Florina rides to the Pheraen capital and attempts to enlist the official aid of Lord Eliwood himself- but they refuse to act! Why?! Wil is injured and critical, and Erk squares off alone against a crack battalion of Taliver mages . . .

IceBlade28: Reviews are appreciated!


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